


persuasion of the loveliest kind

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Series: Rarepair Bingo [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Post-Hogwarts, knee-high socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 19:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14599806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Pansy presses a kiss to her knee, just above the hem of the sock, and Ginny laughs quietly.“I don't think the knee is an erogenous zone.”“It could be, with the right persuasion,” Pansy argues.





	persuasion of the loveliest kind

**Author's Note:**

> Ginsy, for the prompt Kneesocks. <3

There is something infuriating about Ginny Weasley in a pair of knee-high socks. Pansy has always seen her feet bare, and now she’s curled in their bed, knees tucked up to her chest as she watches a bird outside the window, tea cooling by her side - clad in a pair of thick, warm lilac socks. 

They go all the way up the knee, grazing a cut she got last week, climbing a tree in the garden. Pansy exhales the last of her cigarette smoke and vanishes the evidence, and then she crosses the room and tucks the breakfast tray into her side of the bed, climbing in beside Ginny instead. 

“What are you doing?” Ginny asks, and Pansy snatches her hand away from where it had been creeping towards the socks like she’s been burned. Ginny turns a smile on her, amused, and Pansy feels like less of a ruin in the face of that sweetness. She feels more like her name, soft and still growing. 

“I didn’t say stop.”

Pansy narrows her eyes. Her hands return, skimming the length of Ginny’s legs with sharp nails - cut short last night and magically grown again this morning - and she feels the fabric catch on the rough lines of her palm. She feels the gentle curve of Ginny’s calves, strong from years of playing Quidditch, lean from years of running ahead of her brothers. She feels the way the fabric hugs Ginny’s skin, prickly with hair that’s starting to grow back. The fine bones of her ankles feel safer, wrapped in soft wool. 

Ginny is not fragile, even if the world looks at her and sees nothing but eggshell, delicate and cracked. Ginny is not fragile, but these socks make her seem like she is, and there is something tempting about that, something tantalizing about the newness of it all. 

Pansy presses a kiss to her knee, just above the hem of the sock, and Ginny laughs quietly. 

“I don't think the knee is an erogenous zone.”

“It could be, with the right persuasion,” Pansy argues. She likes arguing with Ginny in the morning, because they have the whole day to pretend like the silly arguments really bother them, and then there is fantastic, messy, lovely sex in the evening, and then they get to start all over again. Arguments in the evening rarely mean anything as wonderful.

“You think you can persuade anything to love you,” Ginny says, tracing the shape of Pansy’s jaw with the pads of her fingers. The touch is softer than the bed beneath her, despite the calluses, and Pansy sinks into both, her own hands wrapped around Ginny’s ankle. 

“I wasn’t talking about love,” Pansy says, with a sharp smile. “But I persuaded you, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Ginny agrees. She likes back against the pillows, her hand entangled in Pansy’s dark hair, and Pansy moves down the bed a little, her hands skimming Ginny’s legs. She likes the way her thighs flatten when they hit the bed, growing plump against the white cotton, and she likes the way the socks feel under her bare legs when she straddles Ginny’s calves. She likes the freckles smattered across Ginny’s skin, and the spray of her red hair against the pillows. 

“You have a strange fascination with my socks,” Ginny says wryly, when Pansy starts to peel them off, slowly, bending her head to press reverent kisses to the skin, honey-coloured in the morning sun. 

“I have a fascination with all of you,” Pansy says, digging her nails in slightly where they meet Ginny’s thigh, enough to make Ginny’s breath catch. “I don't think that’s strange.”

“No stranger than a Wrackspurt,” Ginny says breathlessly, as Pansy’s hands trail up her legs, nails dragging against skin. Pansy laughs. She doesn’t believe all of the things that Luna does, but she finds comfort in Ginny’s faith in her friend. Feels like home, to come back to the flat after a gruelling day of work and hear of all the weird, impossible things that Luna’s discovered that day, to hear Ginny chattering on about the things she’s written about at work, the creatures she’s searched for in the undergrowth. 

Ginny kicks out slightly as Pansy grazes a ticklish spot. The socks are halfway down her legs now, bundled at her calves, bunched up beneath Pansy, and she couldn’t care less. She’ll make Ginny put them back on later, maybe ask her to make breakfast in them, since their eggs are probably cold by now. Maybe ask her to cook breakfast in just the knee-high socks, nothing else. 

Probably it’ll end up just being cereal, because cooking naked has never led to anything but unpleasant burns in unsavoury places, but the view will be worth the dry taste of cornflakes. 

“Are you just going to touch, or are you going to do something?” Ginny asks, a laugh in her voice as she squirms under Pansy’s too-light ministrations. 

“Oh, I’m going to touch,” Pansy says, with more than a promise. She has only one thought as she bends down and peels the socks off entirely, Ginny’s grin a fixed point above her. 

She’s going to have to cut her nails again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! <3


End file.
